Two weeks ago, I suggested you stop asking if your photographs are good and that you not concern yourself with whether they are or are not art. I advocated a more playful approach guided by what you love and what brings you joy. I argued that the growth in your craft could be channelled by that love because the more you love doing something, the more you do it, and the more you learn. Or so I believe.
But that doesn’t remove the need for excellence in our evolution, nor does it mean we can’t all become more aware of our blind spots. We all have them, and many of us come through them faster because of a little tough love—a moment, perhaps, when someone looks at our work, sees what we do not, and gently nudges us in a stronger direction.
I get a lot of emails. Many of them ask me the same thing: “Could you please look at my work and tell me if it’s any good?” I am very conscious in those moments of both the vulnerability required to ask someone this question and of the hurtful power of a misplaced word.
Too many artists, young in their craft if not in their years, have been derailed by the insensitivity of a more experienced photographer trying to hold the line in the cause of excellence. I hear about it happening all the time in camera clubs, but the same kind of comments have come from competition judges and the usual unsolicited comments from small-hearted people online. I try to be very careful with my words, but here’s the direction I try to steer those conversations:Before your work can be good, it must first become competent, and competence is a hard stage through which to pass, especially for those of us for whom patience is in short supply.
A better question than “Is it good?” is “Is it getting better?”
That’s a tough question that requires some thick skin if you’re going to hear the answer clearly enough to act on it. It’s also a question that will serve you well in your craft; it tells me you are open to change, that you know there’s room to grow, and that you’re more excited about where you’re going than where you’ve been. So when someone points out the sensor spots you didn’t see or the crooked horizon you didn’t notice, you think, “Fantastic; I can watch for those!” and take one step closer to competence.
Much of competence is in paying attention. And growth in competence is learning what to pay attention to.
The small things matter. You must pay enough attention to your work that you see the sensor spots. I know, we all miss one now and then, but when I see obvious sensor spots or crooked horizons, it tells me you’re not looking at the picture; you’re not seeing it. You might be looking at the subject, beautiful as it is, and you might be looking at your memory of the moment, but you aren’t looking at the picture. See what I mean?
It’s not about the spots. It’s about a lack of observation.
If I look at your picture and see a lack of critical sharpness, I stop looking for “good” because the competence isn’t there yet. I don’t mean some creative use of focus, like that slight motion blur you get that makes an image feel a little more alive, I mean the kind where you just blew your choice of shutter speed, or you missed the focus just enough to make me feel like my eyes can’t focus on an element that should be sharp. It’s blurry, plain and simple, and your pictures deserve better than that. You shouldn’t be showing your work at this stage; you should be learning from it.
When you’re chasing “good,” you shouldn’t still need someone to tell you it’s not in focus or that you’ve well and truly blown the exposure in critical areas. You probably shouldn’t need me to tell you to back off on the oversaturation slider, the white vignettes, or the choice to use (God help us) selective colour, but that one might be a different conversation. I’ve certainly made my own mistakes in matters of taste over the years before learning from them. Competence and taste are not the same thing, but the more competent I have become, the less I’ve needed the crutch I once found in the digital un-suck filters or the gimmicks on which so many rely instead of just learning the principles of craft, composition, and storytelling.
This all sounds so harsh, I know. I’ve tried to soften it as best as I can. But hang on a moment, and don’t get hurt by this. Competence is not a consolation prize; it’s your foundation—and you can’t bluff or shortcut your way through it.
Competence is the craft itself, and you can’t skip the craft just to “get to the good stuff.”
It’s like learning a language. Yes, once you’re fluent, you’ll be able to write poems, be creative, and play fast and loose with the vocabulary and grammar. But if you’re not there yet, the most unkind thing I could do is tell you that you are. Doing so would stop you from something truly good: getting better.
You can approach your craft playfully and still learn. You can make what you love and aspire to make work that is stronger still. The questions we ask matter. They drive our motivation and our behaviour, and you will be better served by questions that honour you and the craft you love more than they serve your ego.
“Am I becoming more competent, and is my work getting better?” These questions will take you so much further than “Is it good?”
Practically, this is a matter of what you chase: praise or growth. Happily, I think we can have both, though it will come from different people. Most of us have people in our lives who say things like, “Wow, this should be in National Geographic!” They mean well, though they haven’t seen an issue of NG in 20 years. This praise tells you someone resonated with your photograph, and that’s no small thing. You’re on the right path! Those voices can provide the fuel to keep going, but they aren’t the voices to listen to if you want to know how far down that path you really are, and what your next moves might be if you want to go further.
It is hard, but freeing, to be so honest with your work that you can ask where it lacks and what you can improve—and to truly welcome the answers—instead of the need for validation, which often creates (rather than allowing us to see past) the kind of blind spots that keep us from growing.
For the Love of the Photograph,
David.
The biggest challenges for most photographers are not technical but creative. They are not so much what goes on in the camera but what goes on in the mind of the person wielding it. Light, Space & Time is a book about thinking and feeling your way through making photographs that are not only good, but truly your own. It would make an amazing gift for the photographer in your life, especially if that’s you. Find out more on Amazon.
Comments
I had a three-decade career that required me to please clients. It was challenging, and I loved it, but when I retired, I decided I didn’t want another job. I wanted time to pursue my hobbies. I wanted time to travel and spend more time with my family.
I landed back in photography because—and this is my stock answer—I didn’t like golf. I have improved my photography skills by reading about it, visiting museums, getting outdoors, and volunteering my time to organizations that can utilize a person with camera skills. I have done gallery exhibits and have been asked many times to do more. That’s not why I got into it. That’s another job.
I think I have a good eye for color and composition, but nobody learns in a vacuum. Thank you for your advice and ideas on why people take photographs. Anybody can learn settings. Learning the craft is an ongoing journey.
Words of wisdom right there, Rick. Thanks for chiming in. Happy you’re here!
Ive re-read this article several times. I feel like I needed to hear this. Competence isn’t something one can bluff their way through…so spot on! Im going back to look at my images from when I picked up my camera 6 years ago, to now and ask that question of ‘are they getting better?” I’m almost afraid to look, but no risk, no challenge, no learning, no growth. Thanks David.
..and your words did not ring harsh. just rang true.
Ive re-read this article several times. I feel like I needed to hear this. Competence isn’t something one can bluff their way through…so spot on! Im going back to look at my images from when I picked up my camera 6 years ago, to now and ask that question of ‘are they getting better?” I’m almost afraid to look, but no risk, no challenge, no learning, no growth. Thanks David.
..and your words did not ring harsh. just rang true.
Thanks for that, Marilyn.
I recently read your latest book, “Light, Space, and Time”. As I read, I found myself pausing to reflect and absorb what you were saying. I am continuing to develop my “voice”. You speak of narrowing down and focusing to what you truely love. Since I enjoy photographing in multiple genres, can one develop their “voice” ?
Hi Rich! Yes! Absolutely. You could have a real thing for wide angle lenses, slower shutter speeds, and softer colours (for example) and that would translate to any subject. Your tastes and preferences will be part of your voice if you’re bold with them and lean into them.
Craft & Vision are still some of my most loved YouTube episodes. I so enjoy how you have each topic illustrate an idea that encourages me to think about the art of photography in a way that I must find my own answers. I appreciate that challenge to get to what I love and do that. So thank you. Except for the most recent book in your collection I have the others. Each one helps me see the world in a different way so thank you.
Thank you, Clayton. When you get around to reading Light, Space & Time I’d love to hear what you think! 😉
As photographic artists, even if an image we take is actually “good,” we can often see ways it could have been improved and than should help us to better (and the process continues!)
For me it is a big step forward to know, that it is important to love what I do. My photographs should satisfy me at first, not the mainstream.
Using the experince and the hints of David, he offers generously, I am able to change the look at my work. Yes I am more critical of it. And mastering something at a higher level is great. That pushes me further.
That is joy. Realizing that I am applying what I have learned gives me the energy to continue learning. And perhaps it is joy precisely because I consciously avoid putting myself in competition.
Thanks very much for the perspective, insights and inspiration.
I really don’t have the words to express how much I love this post.
Improving. Growing. Getting better.
Words to live by.
Check out Sean Tucker’s posting from earlier today. It’s a great supplement to this discussion about using AI for feedback..
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VDUXxx88kz0&t=4s
You’re right about how well Sean’s video complement’s David’s essay—thanks for pointing me to it.
No surprise there. Sean and I were on an interview / conversation together recently and he observed that we might be the same person. 😂
I am just eading his book “The Meaning In The Making”. It is a honest, sensitive and eye opening book. Definitely a book recommendation.
You changed my photographic journey with “The Heart of the Photograph” and asking me to consider “Is it mine?” instead of “Is it good?” I experienced a huge shift after reading that book. Then, you helped me gain confidence in my work when I followed your advice and perused my archives. It was there I discovered that how I “see” has been there all along. But my competence wasn’t and so I had difficulties executing. But what a thrill it was to discover that I had been trying to photography then the way I photograph today and that I have been copying myself, not other photographers. And now, you’ve done it again. Asking myself if I’m getting more competent and are my photographs getting better is really the key, isn’t it?
Each level of competence opens up another level of “Is it mine?” And so we grow. Constantly. Perpetually. Bringing an accumulation of wisdom to each successive photograph. And that’s a revelation.
Thank you. Again.
After about 50 years with a camera in hand since I persuaded my dear and indulgent grandfather to buy me a Kodak Instamatic 110 from the chemist in the village he lived in, I still can’t claim to feel that I’ve mastered the art.
And yet…
Sometimes I look at my images and see that my subconscious is seeing symmetries, angles, light and space etc etc that I know I wasn’t consciously aware of when I took the photo. Yet there they are.
I’ve some small accomplishments; I worked as a photographer for a short while and as such am a member of the professional body. They hold an annual print competition judged by panels of senior members who are all working professionals. This means that the typical “lovely sunset” won’t win much because the criteria are more stringent.
I’ve entered every year for 4 years and had images awarded Silver every year. I’m proud of that because it means that my images reach a standard that significantly impressed people who are hard to impress.
My dream was always to work for Magnum because their style and genre is the stuff that always blew me away and inspired me to travel and to shoot. I strive to get that one shot that makes me feel that Steve McCurry, Ian Berry, Abbas or Larry Towell would be genuinely impressed with.
At 57, I think the chance of my achieving that dream is fast receding into the past; I shall continue to strive to get that one shot though.
There are a lot of people today who worry about incidental matters like gear. We’ve all done it of course but eventually you realise that beyond a certain point, gear won’t help your progress, only practice will.
Think of all those tatty looking Leica M cameras and lenses that the likes of HCB, Brian Brake etc touted around the world for decades. They didn’t keep buying new in order to ‘get better’: they concentrated on mastering what they had. That’s a sound approach often forgotten today.
Can’t tell you how encouraged I am by this, Denice. Some days it’s hard to see the impact I might be making and today is one of those days. Knowing that what I write makes a difference, well, that makes a difference. Thank you.
David,
This article is one that I need to make a few comments upon. Your advice is probably fine for teaching to beginning and growing photographers. But there comes a time when you understand enough of the craft that the things that you mention like straight horizons, sensors spots, critical sharpness are “rules” that can and should be broken but need to be done intentionally by the maker. Unfortunately too many photographers do not make this to experiment and move beyond the beginning “rules”. Many great photographers shattered these “rules” everyday (Winogrand, Leiter, Moriyama, Capa, Hido even Alex Webb who is frequently “soft” because it’s part of the mood and feeling of the image. What I see weekly in my camera clubs during competitions is that every other word out of the competition judges mouth is about technical sharpness but they never ever judge on the mood and the artistic feeling of an image. After a competition i try to give positive takes on many of the images that were technically criticized as these makers have shown inspiration and creativity in spite of being a bit soft. Life is soft.
Here in Chicago there is a mothership group that 35 or so clubs belong to and when you look at their competition results of the best they all look identical and are frankly non memorable. They are all sharp and have fallen into the technical style prescribed and promoted by the judges. They will even say in competitions this really isn’t a CACCA image so try and work on it this way. Its maddening to me when I hear that as that advice to the photographer is shattering their creativity but I do understand that the judges are limited by their own understanding of the craft. Yes certain types of images need sharpness but not all do. If photographers want to understand the quality of their work and develop a voice they should seriously take art classes and learn about composition and the meaning from art which as you know has an extraordinary range. Photography is a fine art and I approach it as such. Once you have an appreciation for art you can better judge your own work. Sorry for a little Sunday morning rant.
Charlie,
What you wrote is exactly why I am no longer participating in a camera club. I wrote above that David completely changed my trajectory by having me ask myself “Is it mine?” instead of “Is it good?”. My experience with camera clubs is exactly as you described, with no room for real creativity, or art and hooboy, if you submitted anything that broke rules or violated the mustbesharpdonotblowthehighlights criteria, you would get raked over the scoring coals. This though is exactly why I don’t recommend camera clubs to my students or friends. Camera clubs aren’t really a place of learning or growing, but more a place of confirmation.
And I absolutely agree that learning about art is also important. I think a lot of folks think that once they’ve mastered the camera they’ve mastered photography, but I disagree. They’ve merely mastered the tool with which to create photographic art.
But I think as creatives, we crave sharing our work and getting feedback, because what’s the fun of making photographs so that they only ever live on our hard drives? I ended up creating my own group. It’s not a club. It’s by invitation only, and the strictest criteria is that they fit in with a group of people who want to learn, share and talk about photography. It’s a lot more social than a “club” – we eat dinner and drink wine together and then share and chat and ask questions. I love it so much more than I ever loved camera club. We connect as people first, which makes each of us genuinely care about the others and we’re all invested in helping each other learn and grow. I highly recommend starting your own group! Ditch judges and scoring and just talk! We call our get-togethers the Lens Lab Lounge (I love alliteration!), but those three words really encompass what we do; we talk photography, we teach/learn photography and we do it in a friendly, welcome and relaxing environment.
Good luck to you!
Denice,
Our club is a bit more like what you describe than most clubs. Ours is a very old club that was originally started in the 1890’s so it does hold onto some traditions including competitions. Understanding competitions value and limitations is critical. As a member of the club I feel i should participate in our activities but they all know my feelings regarding the reviews that I stated above. I judge poorly since I submit raw street photography and some socially challenging subjects (street prostitution, drug use, ICE activities, abstracts, etc). Butterflies on flowers are not my style nor interest. So in my small way the judges at least have to confront the reality of other ideas. Self awareness of what your art is to you is the key as you alluded to.
Thanks for weighing in, Charlie. Give the article another read; I don’t think we’re saying different things. Like Denice, this is one of the reasons I don’t compete, or see much value in the culture of competition. I don’t see how one can win at something so subjective and personal. How do you evaluate a winner between Monet and Picasso? They do different things and depending on what the judge deems important, each might win over the other and both wins would be meaningless.
As for sharpness, HCB may well have said, “sharpness is a bourgeouis concept,” but (a) I suspect he was joking, and (b) that didn’t mean he stopped focusing his lens. 🙂
Rant away, my friend. Lord knows I do! 🙂
Well said. In Japan, the word shokunin is often associated with ‘artisan’ but it’s much more than that. Shokunin are those who dedicate themselves to being masters of their craft – whether it be sword making or sushi or dying cloth or…
Similarly, in China the word kung fu is often thought to relate to the martial arts. That’ s wushu. Kung fu relates to someone who has taken what they do and raised it to an art form. For Stradivarius, his kung fu was making violins.
Rather than asking yourself, “Is it good?” ask, “Is this the best I can offer myself today?”
My 2¢.
Mike
I can’t tell you how much I like this, Mike. Worth much more than 2¢! Thank you for taking the time.
This article lands on so much truth! I have learned more from deconstructing my images and asking “how did I miss such an awesome opportunity?” Settings, lack of preparation and forethought? Or bad technique? I photograph a lot of wildlife and besides the obvious need for the right gear, you actually need to know how to handle it quickly and accurately in order to capture more than just a “bird on a stick”. Without deconstructing my own mediocre or missed images, I would never have moved the needle of competence any further. Great reminder for all of us!
Ever forward, Sandy! One of the things I love about this craft is the complexity. Always some new thing to learn, to improve, to explore. 👏
So much better than your previous article, in my opinion.
A bit of a back-handed complement, but thank you. 😂
I try to do a anti-f-up review (let’s call it a competence audit) of my photos after every outing, and make notes of the things I did wrong. I can review those notes before the next time out to remind myself of the things to avoid doing, but often don’t because I’m in a rush. The ones that bite me repeatedly are related to the surroundings of the subject: not leaving enough space, or failing to notice a distracting item in a place that’s not easy to eliminate with a bit of a crop.
I do the same, Gord, usually as I’m editing, and taking mental notes. I do, however, try not to frame them as “things I did wrong” so much as choices that didn’t work, but that’s probably just me trying to stay positive about things. And don’t get me started on not leaving enough space. I’m in recovery for that one. 😉